The Prophecy

One day there will live a girl who will bring peace to this earth.

By the light of day, she will dance and sway,

Beneath the silver sun’s glow, her tears will flow,

She will sin and she will sing,

She will only be human.


But she will see the darkest of days,

And stare into the death of light.

The child that has seen the empty sight

Will say to herself one night,

“It cannot be,

Not with all these hearts and all these souls,

That we have lost the language of Old?”


She will search for this language of love

In the daily death of the sun.

She will question the furthest star,

Seek knowledge near and far,

While she cuts her feet on jagged stones

And stumbles in the dark,

The child of peace will fail to hear

The song of her own dear heart.


Moons will pass and tides will change,

Trees will rise from soiled sand

And red roses will grow from graves.

Storms of screams will scratch at the sky,

And the drums of war that wake the land

Shall name the first to die.


Through these breathing dreams and poisoned air,

Swallowing tears and choking fears,

(Her heart knocks against its cage,

Ticking clocks conceal rage)

To the rhyme of time and pulse of fire,

She will search and seek and desire.


When she has seen the sun fall into every sea,

And followed her fleeing shadow;

When her mind has drank from the rivers of life,

And been drowned in the suffering sea,

Then, she will return to the sweetest song,

The truest sound to be.


In the deepest caverns of her heart,

Where the story of the human soul

Is writ on the walls and sung by stones,

She will find the language of Old.


For as long as the day has followed the night,

And the willow has reached for the earth,

The strings of the heart have played the tune,

We have breathed for the word.


The girl who will bring peace to this earth

Will know this song of the heart.

Her lips will speak the language of Old,

Whisper the word of the world.


In black ink on bright skies

Of silver and of gold,

The word of the world

Will sing to the souls,

In the language of Old.


As dawn paints the sky in sweeps of scarlet and of silk,

The word will fill the air,

And peace will fall on the world.

And somewhere,

An open heart will lie beside a little girl.


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